


Muscles Better and Nerves More

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crush at First Sight, Fluff, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love, joining the Chargers, or at least lust, why is that not a tag already?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: The Iron Bull definitely isn't what Krem was expecting.





	Muscles Better and Nerves More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whyguy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyguy/gifts).



> i like my body when it is with your  
> body. It is so quite a new thing.  
> Muscles better and nerves more.  
> i like your body. i like what it does,  
> i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
> of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
> -firm-smooth ness and which I will  
> again and again and again  
> kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
> i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
> of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes  
> over parting flesh...And eyes big love-crumbs,
> 
> and possibly i like the thrill
> 
> of under me you quite so new 
> 
> e. e. cummings

It's there from the very beginning.

Well, all right, perhaps not the _very_ beginning, when blood was running down Bull's face and Krem's body was one giant ache from his abrupt introduction to the tavern's stone floor. All he'd been thinking then was a steady litany of _fuck fuck fuck_ , and mostly what he'd been aware of was the need to get as far away as possible, before any of the people hiding behind overturned tables decided to try for the bounty on his head. There were enough of them to overwhelm him with sheer numbers, and he was already worn down.

So at the very beginning, all he'd thought about was escape, and keeping this strange Qunari alive long enough to ask him what the fuck he was thinking, attacking a tribune like that. Not that Krem isn't grateful, but still. There's a world of difference between soldiers risking their lives for each other, and one person risking his life for a complete stranger. Who _does_ something like that?

The Iron Bull, Krem learns, is who does something like that.

"He's done a lot that's crazier than this," the Chargers' healer informs Krem when he finally gets Bull back to them after two days of running. Standing dazed in the center of the Chargers' camp, Krem just blinks around at a motley collection of people who look like anything except an organized fighting force.

"Um," he says.

The healer--his name is Stitches, Krem learns later--takes pity on him and sends someone to find him food and a bedroll while the Iron Bull gets his bandages changed. A full night's sleep and three bowls of unidentified stew later, Krem feels human again, if a bit wary of all these strangers. The Iron Bull sits beside him, though, pressed knee-to-knee as everyone else crowds in close to hear the story.

And _that's_ when it starts.

Full and warm and still a little bit sleepy, Krem finds his attention drifting from the Iron Bull's overly-dramatic retelling, to the Iron Bull's knee pressed against his own. Heat seeps through two layers of cloth to warm him even more, and for a moment, Krem leans sideways, wanting that heat against his shoulder, too.

As soon as he realizes what he's doing, he straightens up abruptly. Maybe too abruptly, because the Iron Bull slants a sideways look at him without interrupting the flow of the story.

"Excuse me," Krem mutters and unfolds himself to beat a hasty retreat for the relative privacy of the bushes around the camp. Other than a few guards scattered around the perimeter, the rest of the Chargers are around the fire, and this is probably the most privacy he's going to get for the rest of the day.

There's a stream a little ways away, and Krem kneels beside it to splash water onto his face and neck. He'd love to strip down and wash away all the grime, but he's not going to risk it here. Too easy for someone to stumble over him, and he has no interest in the kind of awkward conversation that would almost certainly follow.

So he sticks to washing his face with unnecessary thoroughness, letting the water chill the heat in his skin. It's just a reaction to the stress of the last few days, and the relief of being safe, at least for a little while. It doesn't mean anything, and it won't last.

Eyes closed, cold hands pressed to his face, Krem draws in a deep, slow breath the way he does before a fight. He doesn't even like men, right?

Which isn't entirely true, but it is true that any inclination he occasionally feels in that direction tends to get twisted up in memories of his parents and every man they tried to push at him, every man who wanted him to be something he isn't. That it's sparking inside him now, the desire to lean closer and see what happens, is just a combination of relief and exhaustion. A little more sleep, and a little more distance from the Iron Bull, and everything will be fine.

Absolutely fine.

###

The Chargers break camp the next morning, and Krem follows along with them, only to discover that a good night's sleep has done absolutely nothing for the way his eyes want to follow the Iron Bull. He doesn't let them, of course, but the attraction is there despite his efforts to kill it.

His excuse is that there's no point starting anything when he won't be with the Chargers more than a few days. He ignores the little voice pointing out that, if he's not staying, he might as well start something: any resulting disasters will be left behind the moment he leaves their company. That's not the point. The point is that he's had enough personal disasters lately, and he'd rather avoid another one.

He keeps that firmly in mind over the next few days as he walks with the Chargers. They don't mind his company, and he's safer in a group until they're back in civilized areas. Sooner or later, they'll wind up back in a decent-sized town, and Krem can bid them farewell at that point. He'll keep heading south, looking for some Orlesian noble or Fereldan arl who needs a good sword, and they'll keep heading...wherever they're heading.

Curiosity needles him, but he ignores it just as firmly as he ignores the warmth he feels when the Iron Bull stands too close.

###

He's still working on both a week later when they stop for the night at a town large enough to have an actual inn. There's even an actual crossroads to go with it. Real roads, not dirt tracks leading to distant farms, or deer trails that will disappear a little ways off the road. Bull has already told him that the Chargers are headed east, and Krem knows this is the perfect time to resume his own interrupted plans.

It's unexpectedly depressing, the thought of never seeing any of these lunatics again, but he can't tag along behind them forever. That a few of them have dropped less-than-subtle hints about how a mercenary company can always use someone else who knows how to fight doesn't matter when the Iron Bull has said nothing. Bull isn't shy about saying what he wants, and if he hasn't offered Krem a place, then there isn't one for him here.

Just because he isn't staying doesn't mean he can't join them for one last night in the common room, though. The Chargers are rowdy but not destructive, and the Iron Bull has an inordinate amount of fun describing various styles of eyepatch that he could get. Krem doesn't know if he's amused or appalled at the idea of an eyepatch with dawnstone beads around the edge, but...

"It would definitely be eye-catching," he says with a completely straight face, and the Iron Bull nearly falls off the bench, he's laughing so hard.

It's late when Bull finally drains his last mug and heaves himself up off the bench with a grunt. "I'm getting too old for this shit." He says it cheerfully, as if the prospect amuses him.

Krem snorts his opinion of that. "Sure you are."

He's the last one left at the table, the rest of the Chargers having either gone to bed or drifted away to play cards in the far corner of the room. If Bull is going to bed, then Krem should probably head that way himself, unless he wants to stay up and win a little extra coin for the road.

Bull's hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts. It's a firm grip, companionable, and Krem turns to look up at him.

"I've been looking for a good lieutenant lately," the Iron Bull says. "Somebody who can run these idiots around in circles while I sit on my ass and watch. That's the good life, right? Letting someone else do the hard part."

He laughs at his own joke, slaps Krem on the back, and then takes himself off to bed without giving Krem time to answer. Just as well, since Krem can't do anything except stare after him for a long time. Was that a job offer? Because it sounded remarkably like one, even though it's also the first time Bull has even hinted at Krem staying with the Chargers.

Without thinking, Krem puts his hand where the Iron Bull's rested on his shoulder. No physical heat lingers, but Krem can feel it anyway.

###

He says yes, of course, and only when it's too late does he think about what that means for his goal of not staring after the Iron Bull like a lost puppy. Because his earlier resolve to avoid personal disasters is now even more important.

Bull's tendency to wander around shirtless does _not_ help. He doesn't have the kind of build that shows off rippling muscles, but the play of scars as he moves is just as interesting. Krem wants to touch, to taste, to feel that skin moving under his hands and his mouth as he redraws each scar with fingers and tongue. While he was in the army, it was easy to bury thoughts like that, but now, without the fear of discovery constantly tap-tap-tapping at the edge of his thoughts, he finds it more difficult than he expected to keep his eyes from following Bull wherever he goes.

Maybe the problem is that it's been too long since he had any company except his own hand, so he fucks Skinner, and lets Dalish fuck him, and that doesn't help, either. Oh, he enjoys himself and enjoys them enjoying themselves, but it doesn't stop him from thinking about the taste of the Iron Bull's skin the next time he's touching himself.

He makes an effort to get to know Bull outside the practice ring and their strategy sessions, and that definitely doesn't help. The more time he spends with Bull, the more he realizes that the big dumb Qunari act is exactly that: an act. Watching his mind work is as fascinating as watching him practice shirtless.

At least the work itself is a good distraction. In between fighting and training new recruits and getting trained in turn by Bull, he stays well enough occupied that he doesn't need to be annoyed with himself too often. The Chargers are pretty casual about sex in general, and when he wants company, it's easy enough to find, even if it's not the company he really wants. He just can't bring himself to take that step. Every time he starts to do it, he thinks about his parents and their plans for him, and he hesitates long enough to lose the moment. Next time, he always tells himself, but next time is never any different.

###

By the time he's been with the Chargers a year, he's seen more than his share of tavern brawls. The Chargers don't usually start them, but they always finish them, and Krem is constantly amazed at the stupidity of people who think it's a good idea to start a fight with a mercenary company.

He's not entirely sure how this one starts, but it's worse than usual. They're in some dockside tavern in Cumberland, just him and Bull waiting for nightfall so they can make their drop--a bunch of letters between a pair of Orlesian nobles, letters that will make the Ben-Hassrath very happy. Once that's done, they can get out of here, and that can't happen soon enough for Krem.

He's been nursing the same mug of ale for the whole evening, not interested in being even a little bit drunk. There's a tension in the air he doesn't like, even if he doesn't know the source, and he has to fight to keep his hand off the hilt of his sword. Beside him, Bull is trading jokes with the woman on his other side, occasionally laughing loud enough to get startled looks from elsewhere in the room, but Krem knows he feels it, too.

Whatever the spark that lights the place on fire, Krem doesn't see it. The resulting explosion is nearly instantaneous, though: tables going over, people shouting and on their feet, and then someone throws a punch and it's all over.

There's no room to draw his sword in the press of bodies, but Krem manages to get off the bench and away from the table before someone flips it. He puts his back to Bull's without looking, reassured by that familiar presence, and braces himself just in time to block a wild swing for his face.

It's chaos, everyone out for blood, the original reason for the fight irrelevant. Krem has fought with Bull enough that they move as a unit, protecting each other's backs even as they circle or sidestep. No one else in the room seems to have that much sense, too focused on beating the shit out of each other to make even a temporary alliance, which maybe explains why he and Bull are able to make it to the stairs and escape.

"Fuck," Krem breathes when they're safely in their room with the door bolted. It's a sturdy door with a heavy bolt, and Krem wonders if maybe they should have taken that as a sign. Do patrons try to break down the doors on a regular basis?

"Fuck is right," Bull says. He sounds as breathless as Krem. "What do you think about waiting it out in here? Catch a nap until it's time."

Krem laughs a little. "Great idea, Chief. Don't know why I didn't think of it myself."

"That's why I'm the boss," Bull says. He looks Krem over, then touches his own lower lip, which is split open and bleeding. "What's the rest of the damage?"

The damage isn't as bad as it could be. One of Krem's eyes is starting to swell shut, his forearms ache from blocks and his knuckles from punching, and there's a pain in his side that might be a cracked rib. Bull is favoring his bad knee, and he's got a long, shallow slash down his upper arm.

"We're a pair, aren't we?" Bull says, shaking his head as he pulls the elfroot salve out of his pack.

Standing in the center of the room with his shirt pulled up, trying to get a look at his own ribs, Krem can only snort agreement. Maker, he hates brawls like that, where the whole point is to make someone else hurt. That's not the kind of fight that ends in people drinking and laughing together, and he's glad to be clear of it.

Bull lowers himself to the bed and stretches his bad leg out to one side, then gestures Krem closer with a wave of one hand. "Give an old man a break and let me sit."

"Want me to get you a cane?" Krem asks as he steps closer and turns, raising his arm over his head to give Bull access to his ribs.

"Shut it, you," Bull says with a grin that makes his lower lip start bleeding again.

The salve is cold, but Bull's hand is warm, and the exhilaration of the fight turns instantly into an entirely different kind of excitement. It doesn't matter that Bull's touch is professional, as non-sexual as it's possible to be in this situation.

Krem takes a deep, quiet breath, but all it does is remind him how close they are. Bull's legs are stretched out on either side of him, and Bull's free hand is on his hip, bracing him against the hand rubbing elfroot salve into his ribs. It's a position Krem would never have been comfortable with a year ago: he would have been waiting for judgment, or at least a comment, for some stupidity that would make him feel like an exotic creature in a menagerie.

But it's Bull. Bull, who's never treated him as anything other than what he is, who's put together an entire mercenary company full of people who make Krem feel like he's at home when he's with them. That's not the kind of thing that happens by accident.

His heart is beating faster than it was while he was fighting, and he can barely breathe, even though the elfroot is already working its way through his skin to heal the ribs underneath. When he swallows, the sound is too loud.

"Want me to get your knee?" he asks. At least his voice doesn't crack.

"Sure, thanks." Bull gives Krem's ribs a last critical look before letting him go. "Some asshole kicked it right before we got to the stairs."

Krem grimaces as he helps Bull get rid of his boot and roll up the leg of his pants high enough to bare the knee, which is already starting to swell and turn unfortunate colors. The distraction helps Krem get himself back under control, and he kneels to get a better angle. Fingers coated liberally with salve, he cups Bull's knee in both hands and works it in firmly. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, and he knows exactly how hard to push.

Bull groans appreciation, and Krem's whole body goes hot again. On his knees between Bull's legs, his shirt half open, Bull's bare leg under his hands. This is not an improvement. Not at all.

 _Concentrate,_ he tells himself furiously. Bull's knee. Bull's knee is hurting, and that's not at all arousing, and Krem needs to be thinking about that. More salve here, a little more pressure here, don't forget the sides or the back of the knee, make sure to keep his fingers firm, and under no circumstances think about-

"Krem," Bull says, and Krem startles so bad he almost knocks the pot of salve to the floor.

"What?" he asks, voice too rough.

Fingers touch the underside of his chin, tipping his head up so he has to look at Bull, who looks back at him very seriously. Without speaking, and without letting go of Krem's chin, Bull dips a finger in the salve and touches the swelling under Krem's eye very gently. "Doing all right there?"

Fuck it.

Moving deliberately, Krem picks up the pot of salve and wedges the cork back in, then sets the pot on the floor past the end of the bed. His hands are a little sticky, not all the salve worked in, and he touches one finger to Bull's lower lip, pressing it to the split until the bleeding stops.

Bull licks his lips, the tip of his tongue brushing the tip of Krem's finger, and it really shouldn't feel as good as it does, heat travelling down his arm all the way to his chest.

"Doing all right?" Bull asks again, lips moving under Krem's finger.

"Yeah," Krem murmurs. He braces his hands on Bull's thighs and gets to his feet, letting his hands travel along Bull's ribs, over his arms, up his neck to his face. They're almost eye-to-eye like this, and Krem grins. "You're too fucking tall, Chief."

"Looks like just the right height to me," Bull says. He's watching Krem intently, holding perfectly still like he's waiting for a signal.

Krem bends down and kisses him, tasting elfroot and the last traces of blood before Bull's lips part and he stops thinking about anything except the heat of Bull's mouth. Bull's hands close on his hips, pulling him in and down, and Krem follows the pressure, shoving at Bull's shoulders so they end up flat on the bed, Krem on top and both of them laughing.

Trying to get naked only makes them laugh harder. The boots are especially difficult: since neither of them is willing to stop kissing long enough to deal with it properly, they end up in a flailing, graceless tangle of limbs and blankets and trousers until Krem is laughing so hard he can't even breathe.

The laughter dies fast when Bull rolls them over so Krem is underneath, heat searing through him like a grenade, and oh, right, that's what they're doing. Bull shifts his weight like he's going to slide down the bed, then stops and waits for Krem's nod before he moves again.

His mouth is hot, and he knows what he's doing. Not perfect, not at first, but he learns fast what Krem likes, when to use his tongue and when to use his fingers and when to--very gently--use his teeth. His horns are rough under Krem's hands, rough and solid and cooler than hair would be, and at least Krem doesn't have to worry about pulling it, because the fire is already spilling over, too soon, too soon, but as much as he wants to enjoy Bull's mouth for the next week, he's not sorry either, it's impossible to be sorry about anything that bows his back and makes him choke on a shout as his skin burns.

He's pushing Bull's head away almost before his ass falls back to the bed, wanting more but maybe not right this instant when every touch is magnified by the aftershocks and even Bull's hands on his hips are almost too much. His mouth and tongue aren't working properly, and while he's trying to work out an apology for pushing Bull away so abruptly, Bull laughs and crawls up the bed to kiss him again, hard and deep.

It's been a really long time since Krem's had sex with another man, and, well, Bull's cock is proportionate with the rest of him, which makes it feel even more awkward in Krem's hand. Bull kissing him only makes it worse, because it's impossible to concentrate on anything else until Krem huffs in frustration and rolls them over again so he can use his hands and his mouth together. He'd be nervous about his lack of experience, except that Bull is growling out encouragement and instructions and the occasional "fuck _yes_ " and Krem mainly just wishes he had a hand free to stroke himself to the sounds Bull is making.

Bull groans out a warning at the end, his hand wrapping around Krem's in a clear offer to finish himself off, but Krem shoves the hand away and sucks what he can of Bull's cock into his mouth, his hands working the rest of the shaft. Bull groans again, his cock pulsing between Krem's hands and against his tongue as Bull spills into his mouth, Bull's fingers digging into the mattress hard enough Krem thinks he hears the sheets tear.

"Fuck," Bull mutters as he goes limp.

Krem tries to answer, coughs, tries again. "It's your brilliance that always inspires us, Chief."

Even as he says it, he slides one hand under himself. That earlier sensitivity is gone, and he's aching again. It won't take much-

Bull tugs on his hair until Krem looks at him. "Get up here, let me help with that." He gives an exaggerated leer, and Krem snorts out a laugh into the crease at the top of his thigh.

The horns complicate things, but with some effort, Krem can straddle his face sideways, one hand on the wall to keep his balance. It's not as if he'll have to hold the position long, not as close as he is.

Bull, it turns out, has other ideas: he _teases_ , with one hand on Krem's ass to keep him from grinding down. Calling him an asshole does nothing except make him chuckle evilly and move his tongue even slower. It's not as if Krem can put any force behind the word anyway, not when Bull is working him so expertly. He was definitely paying attention last time, and his mouth is making Krem want to scream in the best possible way.

And every time Krem gets close, Bull slows down. "I hate you," Krem tells him, the third time it happens.

Bull hums, and Krem isn't sure if that's agreement or protest because the vibration makes him jerk and he really isn't paying attention to anything else anymore. Especially not when Bull does it again, and again. The muscles in Krem's thighs are trembling now, starting to twitch, and he's close, hovering on the edge, head thrown back as he fights to keep his balance. Bull's hand moves from his ass to his hip, pulling him closer rather than holding him up, and Krem closes his eyes as he comes, his whole body clenched tight until he's dizzy.

When he falls sideways, it's mostly controlled, and he manages not to fall on Bull's horns or hit him in the head with a knee. That's about the limit of his abilities, though: he can't find the energy to do anything else except lie there, half on top of Bull and wheezing like he's just run a race.

"You...are such...an asshole," he pants out.

He gets another evil chuckle, but he also gets Bull's hand rubbing slow circles over his back, warm and soothing. "Does this mean I have to go sleep in the other bed?"

"Only if you want to," Krem says around a yawn, supremely unconcerned.

Beneath him, Bull stretches and makes a sound like he's swallowing a yawn of his own. "Nah," he says. "Maybe later."

"Later," Krem mumbles into his shoulder, and falls asleep to the sound of Bull laughing.


End file.
